


Deathlord

by Michael0441



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Acherus: The Ebon Hold, Death Knight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24881656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michael0441/pseuds/Michael0441
Summary: A story of the Death Knight order hall campaign, as if Arion Carral had been chosen as Deathlord of the Ebon Blade.





	1. Deathlord

Arion circled around the tall, white-haired swordsman. Thassarian kept him in sight, his eyes never blinking. Twin runeblades were held in front of him in a defensive posture. Arion's blade, Shadowmourne, currently held in check so as not to accidentally consume his companions soul during training, rested on his shoulder, ready to be brought to bear at any moment. The two continued to stare at each other, Thassarian a coiled nightsaber ready to pounce, Arion a block of ice, unbreakable and unmovable. The white-haired man made the first move. One blade thrust out, straight to the fiery bearded mans chest, almost unbelievably fast, while the other descended in an arc at his head. Arion raised his left arm, encased and encircled by an enchanted saronite chain, to block the blow. He spun to his left to avoid the thrust, then in the same motion, spun his axe in a savage chop at his opponents ribs. Any normal fighter would be crushed by the blow, but it was blocked by a single blade, it's owner grunting slightly with the effort. A swift flurry of blows followed, Arion blocking the lightning fast strikes with the haft of his axe, while snaking out it's head in an attempt to score any hit. After a frenzied minute of activity, they broke apart. Not to catch their breath, as they no longer had such bodily needs, but to analyze the most recent exchange and formulate new strategies. Thassarian spoke first, "You're getting faster, but not quite fast enough!"

"Really? Seemed to me I've always been plenty fast. Maybe you're just getting slow?"

The taller man grinned, "Maybe so. Regardless, I'm still plenty fast enough to cut you to pieces!"

Arion smirked in return. As response, the chain wrapped around his arm shot out, instantly wrapping around one of the runeblades in his sparring partners hand. Quick as a flash, he brought the hook back and threw the blade to the side. "Always thought it was strange to fight with two weapons. Now we're truly one on one."

Thassarian looked at his now empty hand in disbelief, then growled in anger. "I knew the abilities of your most recent addition, but I'll admit I didn't expect it to be so fast. But all you've done is make me lighter. Now you'll truly never keep up."

In response, Arion charged quickly. He brought his blade down at the collarbone of his partner. It was blocked, though with noticeable effort. The haft of the blade swung out, and caught Thassarian in the ribs. He felt the bones collapse under the weight of his strike, but knew that it hampered him far less than it would a normal man. He was punished for his strike by a pommel to the head. His horned helm caught most of the force, but his neck still snapped to the side, He quickly rolled out of reach, and swung his axe out in a sweeping arc at knee level to buy himself space as he readjusted his helmet. As his vision became clear, he realized he hadn't gotten as much time as he hoped. His opponent was above him, a massive blow already descending. Making a snap decision, Arion took the blow to his right shoulder, almost severing his arm even through his plate armor. However, the runeblade became stuck in his flesh and bone, and before it could be wrenched free, Thassarian found a chain wrapped around his neck, and an axe spike through his gut. 

As Arion rose, he used his blade to drive his opponent into the ground, pinning him there. Thassarian growled, attempted to rise, but could not overcome the weight pressing upon him. "Alright alright, you've won. Now get the hell off me!"

Arion smiled grimly, then acquiesced. As the chain snaked itself back around his arm, he pulled his blade from his companions abdomen. A dry, sucking sound accompanied it. He reached down with his other arm to help him up, realizing as it was nearly pulled off of his body the extent of the damage Thassarian had inflicted. "A good fight. If I hadn't gotten lucky, You would have defeated me handily. Even now, I may need to get this arm replaced if Lord Thorval can't work his wonders."

Thassarian went to retrieve his weapons as he replied,"Hmmph. It was, and I'm begrudged to admit you are truly becoming a force of nature. My reputation may take a hit after this sparring session. Even the Highlord might make his way down here to test you. It's been a few years since you two have sparred, though I think this time it may be you that emerges victorious." 

As Arion looked up outside of the ring, it was true. Quite a few members of the Ebon Blade had surrounded the match. Even some of the ghouls and skeletons that performed manual labor around Acherus had gathered. He smirked as he caught the eye of a massive, hulking form grinning down at him. Malokh Gloomeye stood at the edge of the ring, looking every bit the Warbringer that was his title in life. The orcs red runic tattoos stood out upon his ice blue skin. As Arion ascended the steps to speak with his companion, he marveled once again at the similarities between them. They were each missing an eye, Malokh his left, Arion his right. They both had the recent addition of an enchanted chain wrapped around their left arm. The device had been the orcs idea, and it had saved the lives of them both more than once. They also had their differences. Malokh had a single, high ponytail, his bone-white hair blending nicely with his blue skin. His orcish form was wrapped in spiky saronite armor, reminiscent of what he wore in his time as a warrior of the Horde. Arion was a contrast, his fiery red hair and beard contrasting his glowing blue eyes. His skin was still dark, having paled in death, but not much. His armor was also saronite, though it was much sleeker, a callback to his old days just like the orcs, but closer to the slim black and red leather and mail he wore when he served Stromgarde. As he reached his friend, the orc roared and clapped him on the back, almost finishing the job Thassarians blade had started on severing his arm. "If the ancestors still looked upon us, you would be honored for this battle. it is good to see you finally mastering the axe, a weapon of a true warrior."

Arion grimaced, "Soft on the arm there you beast, Thorval will have enough problems as it is keeping it whole. I thank you though. I'll admit, I do like the speed of the sword, but with the strength this curse gives us, the drawbacks of the axe are almost negated." The two began to walk to the portal to the next level, where the master of blood magic would hopefully be able to salvage his arm.

"Taking the blow to give one of your own was a smart move. An orcish move. I'll say it again, you were wasted as a human in life." 

Arion frowned at his friend. "You know we shouldn't speak of our lives before. It makes it harder to move on."

Malokh had a face that did not betray his emotions. Arion thought it was partly due to undeath, but mostly that he just didn't understand most orcish facial expressions, even after all this time. They both stepped into the purple light, and after a disorienting few seconds, re-emerged on their desired level. They began to make their way to the red-hued blood wing, still in silence. As they walked, Malokh finally grunted. "I know I shouldn't, brother. But I miss it. In a way I think you are luckier that you can't recall your life before. I can. Every night I see my mate in my dreams. I hold my son in my arms. I hold no ill will towards you for ending my life and raising me. I know your mind was not your own at the time. But it hurts. It is one of the only things I feel anymore. Loss. It is not the orcish way to be cut off from family, and the ancestors. In a way, I hope to meet my second end soon, if nothing else than just to see if they will still accept me in death."

Arion looked at his friend, the ghost of regret skirting his heart, though it was impossible for him to feel it fully. He remembered the day he met the Warbringer. It had been the second assault on Light's Hope. Malokh had answered the call from members of the Horde to defend the souls of the heroes buried there. The Ebon Blade, in its original form as servants of the Lich King, had attempted to squash out the last hope of the Light in the Plaguelands that day. Highlord Mograine himself had led the attack, Arion as his lieutenant, along with Thassarian, Koltira Deathweaver, who was still imprisoned by Sylvanas, and Orbaz Bloodbane, who fled before the death knights broke the control of the Lich King, and was finally put down later in Icecrown, having attempted to set up a second Ebon Blade for the Scourge. That day, the skies had rained red, as if the elements themselves knew the bloodshed that was about to be unleashed. As the Scourge rolled down from the hills, the brave defenders of Light's Hope had stood. Three hundred against ten thousand. As the battle wore on, Arion had taken the lives of many paladins, though the fighting was much harder than anticipated. As he beat down a dwarven paladin, he looked up, and that's when he saw him. Malokh was coated in gore, black blood dripping from his axe. The bodies of four death knights surrounded him, an almost unheard of feat for a simple warrior. Their eyes had met. They had fought, for what seemed like days. Finally, Arion had found an opening, he had struck, and that was it. As the orc lay dying upon the bloodied ground, Arion was struck with a sudden emotion he hadn't felt in years. Regret. He looked down upon the dying warriors form, and saw that in the course of the fighting, he had taken the orcs eye. Just like his had been taken at his death. Before the urge left him, he called down a val'kyr, and exerted his will upon her to raise Malokh as a death knight. Quickly afterwards Tirion Fordring had arrived, and the battle was over. History tells the rest. Over the course of the campaigns the Ebon Blade had taken over the years, the two had become very close, coming to see each other as blood brothers. In life, it may have been more. However, Malokh still had the memories of his mate on his mind, and though he couldn't remember much, Arion had a feeling that he had known great love before as well. So nothing ever progressed.

As they reached Lord Thorval, Malokh grunted again. "I will go see to Thassarian, and bring him here if his injuries are severe enough. Suffer well, brother."

"Suffer well."

As the orc left the room, Lord Thorval tore into Arion. "You truly are a fool, commander. I heard the story! Why would you willingly take such a blow?"

Arion grimaced at the tongue lashing, "I had to win, Thorval. If you fought more than you toyed with all these parts, you'd understand." He gestured at the body parts scattered about the room. It was true, Thorval did tinker too much.

At that, the Lord did smile a bit. "Bah, maybe so. However, you were grateful for that toying when I installed that chain upon you and that insufferable orc. I trust it has served you both well?"

"Yes of course. I wouldn't have won my bout without it."

Thorval smiled fully now. "What I love to hear! Now, about this arm. It can be saved, but I implore you not to do this again."

As the blood magic flowed into him, Arion felt rejuvenated. His arm began to re-attach itself fully, and soon he had complete use of it again. He rolled his shoulder, and flexed his fingers to ensure everything still worked properly, then gave his thanks to the master of blood. As he left the room, a ghoul ran up to him. Shocked, as they normally didn't move so fast, he reached his hand out to take the paper the construct gave him. The beast scrambled away, and Arion broke the seal on the scroll, unrolled it and read the message. The Highlord was summoning him. Activating a rune upon his arm to ignite the paper with cold, blue flame, it crumbled to ash in his hands and floated away.

He immediately made his way back to the teleporter. As the purple light suffused him, he thought of the Highlords chambers, and appeared on the correct landing. He looked around and saw some of his compatriots already waiting. Lady Alistra, the master of the unholy. Amal'thazad, a lich, and Arions former teacher as a master of frost. Thassarian, looking recovered, nodded at him. Malokh was there as well, and saluted with a fist to the chest. Dread Commander Thalanor, second-in-command of the Hold, was leaning against a wall, having left his skeletal gryphons behind for once. The portal flared behind him, and Lord Thorval entered as well. They all greeted each other, and found that each had been summoned, though none had yet seen the Highlord. As they were musing out loud what it could be about, Siouxsie the Banshee emerged from his chamber. In her high, commanding voice, she began, "The Highlord has summoned you all here for a reason. You may enter. I will watch the door, and make sure you are not disturbed."

At that, she moved out of the way, and they entered the Highlords office one by one. Arion was the last in the room, and behind him, Siouxsie sealed the door. As he walked in the room, he saw the Highlord for the first time since he had returned to the Hold from his meeting with the Argent Crusade.

Darion Mograine remained as he always had. A deceptively young face belied great power. Everyone in the room knew who the strongest of them was, though Mograine did no posturing. He simply knew who he was, and commanded as such. 

As they all settled in around a large campaign map, a chain of islands Arion had never seen before upon it, the Highlord began. His eyes surged with blue flame as he gave the dread news

"I've just returned from a meeting with Tirion, as you all know. We have been called to stand beside our Argent brothers once more. The Legion has returned."


	2. The Broken Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ebon Blade joins their Argent brothers at the Broken Shore.

Everyone in the room was silent. They all stared at each other, disbelief written on their faces. All but Malokh. His showed more emotion than it had in years. He was angry. True to his nature, the orc was the one to finally break the silence. "The Legion has returned. Good. I will break them as they once broke my people. I will cut down their champions and steal their souls. I will fight my way through to their leader himself, and consume his lifeless black heart."

Arion grinned at that. Mograine responded, "An admirable sentiment, Warbringer, and one I hope you will be able to fulfill. The Argent Crusade is preparing to join the Alliance and Horde at the Broken Shore, which is part of a chain of islands that somehow has a portal to the Legion worlds upon it. We will join them there, to hold the line for Azeroth, and hope to push them back through. We are currently acting on intelligence from SI:7. Right now the weakest point is the middle. The Alliance and Horde are descending from the air, the Alliance from the west, Horde from the East. We will hold the center with the Argent Crusade. Acherus is already moving, and we will be at the battleground in less than an hour. Our two factions MUST hold the line until the Alliance and Horde arrive. The fate of Azeroth depends on it."

Lady Alistra responded, "Then I will begin preparations. The ghouls and assorted undead about the Hold will be ready to march, Highlord." Darion nodded at her, then she left the room. Thorval was next.

"I have a few new, ah, creations Alistra may find useful. After sending them her way, I will prepare my students. Our abilities will surely be in high demand." Highlord Mograine gave him his leave as well, then began to hand out other duties.

"Thalanor, you will have the Hold while we fight on the ground. I wouldn't put it past the Legion to attempt to claim our home during the conflict. I will leave a single wing of riders behind to guard from the sky, and a few abominations at least. Whatever happens, the Legion will not take Acherus. Do you understand?"

The elf bowed deeply. "Yes Highlord. My men are the best. The Legion wont even breach our outer defenses, I swear it." At that, he also left the room to prepare his fighters. 

Amal'thazad floated eerily. "Highlord, if I may?" Darion nodded his permission. The lich began again. "With your permission, I will seek out Salanar the Horseman. He and his riders may be invaluable here. He has not been seen for some time. but I believe I know where to find him." 

Darion grimaced. "Of course. If you are able to find him, all the better. But if he remains missing, I need you to return. This battle may go the other way without your support." Amal'thazad bowed, as much as a lich could, then left the room. It was just Malokh, Thassarian and Arion left. Darion gestured towards Malokh. "Warbringer, I need you to command our east flank. I know you are friendly with the Dark Lady. When the Horde arrives, coordinate with them and give them any support they need. They are to hold off the bulk of the Legion forces. They will need our help." Malokh grunted, saluted, and left the room to gather his men. Thassarian darkened at the mention of Sylvanas. Gesturing towards him, Darion issued more orders. "Thassarian, you will command our west, and give the same aid to the Alliance. They wont face resistance as numerous, but they are to cut to the heart of the invasion, and take out its leader. Your precision will be invaluable to them." Thassarian bowed, and before he had even left the room was already taking out parchment to write a letter. Swiftly musing what it could be about, Arion turned to his leader.

"And you, Arion. You have fought by my side before, and I need you there once more. The two of us, together with the Banshee, will command the center. We will be fighting side by side with the crusaders, at the most crucial point. The paladins are already on the ground, and if my senses are still attuned correctly, we are coming out of flight over the battlefield as we speak. Meet me on the ground with your men, and we will begin this war." They gave each other a salute, then Arion left the room. As he moved to the portal, Siouxsie moved back into the Highlords chambers, assumedly to speak strategy. As he emerged on the ground floor, the Hold was buzzing with activity around him.

Arion saw Malokh across the square, surrounded by other death knights. He seemed to be barking out orders, as they quickly formed up, and moved towards the frostwyrms to ferry them to the ground. Next to him, Thassarian did the same, though his men were mounting the skeletal gryphons. Alistra and Thorval seemed to have already left, as the Hold was remarkably absent many of the mindless undead normally working about the place. Thalanor stood at the balcony, looking out stoically across the battleground. As he watched, the elf mounted his gryphon, and flew out with his wing of riders to protect the skies. Amal'thazad was also nowhere to be seen, presumably still attempting to find Salanar. 

He moved to the last remaining group of Ebon Knights. Their section was the biggest of the three, as they would have the fiercest fighting. As he moved, they all looked to him. "Knights! As you've now doubt heard, we are here to combat the Legion! We will be under the direct command of the Highlord! We will hold the center, where the fighting is fiercest. Many of us will find our second or third deaths this day. All I have to say to you, is make these thrice-damned demons earn it. If they prevail over us this day, make it be over a mountain of their own corpses. They will have to wade through seas of demon blood to make it off this shore. Prepare yourselves, we will leave as soon as the Highlord arrives." He slammed a hand into his chest in salute, and the company followed suit. They stood in neat rows, awaiting more orders. Arion allowed himself a moment of pride in his men. They truly were the finest he had ever lead. As he was musing, Highlord Mograine emerged from the portal. Siouxsie was nowhere to be seen.

Arion raised an eyebrow, and Darion explained. "I just heard from Thassarian. The fighting there is fiercer than we anticipated. She has taken her banshees to join him." Arion nodded at the explanation. Darion looked out over his men. "I will offer no epic final speech. No momentous last words. We must win here, or everything, everywhere will burn. The living may not understand us, but we will protect them nonetheless. Suffer well, my Knights. Now, with me."

They moved as one, to the remaining frostwyrms. After the beasts bore them to the ground, they would return to the skies, and attempt to keep the hordes of felbats and doomguard that could already be seen swarming, at bay. Arion mounted a skeletal beast, then waited as a few Knights climbed up behind him on its broad back. They took off. Instantly the smell of acrid smoke burned in his nostrils. Green fire fell from the sky, and demons could be seen carpeting the ground. A pocket of resistance on the ground, marked by a large, glowing yellow bubble, marked their landing zone. As they descended, an order from the ground was shouted, and the shield made of Light fell, to allow the Ebon Blade to land. As his feet hit the ground, Arion charged a line of demons harrying a crusader at once, his men behind him. They quickly carved their way to the fallen paladin, and arrived just in time for Arion to put Shadowmourne between his body and the axe of a fel guard. He brought his blade to bear, and it tore through the demons armor like a hot knife through snow. The blade glowed, it's enchantments no longer cowed, as it stole the soul from the beast. Strength surged into Arion, and he tore his way through the group of demons still around him. By the time he was done, his men had helped the paladins to their feet, and they made their way back to the lines.

As he fell in behind the shield wall, Arion looked for his commander. He found him, deep in conversation with a tall, elderly paladin. The Ashbringer, blade of legend, glowed in his hand. The burning from the blade was uncomfortable to be around, but at the time it was directed at the demons around them, so it was bareable to the undead reinforcements. Tirion nodded at Arion as he arrived, the two having fought together in Icecrown. Crok Scourgebane, a fellow Knight that he hadn't seen in years, grunted at his approach. Immediately he was included in the conversation. "I have pockets of men that were left behind after our latest retreat. We are now able to push forward, but those men will need to be saved if we are to have enough strength. Is there any among you who can secure them?" the paladin asked.

Crok nodded, "Aye Highlord, I can take some of my boys and retrieve them. If Commander Carral can assist me?" Arion nodded. Mograine gave his leave as well, then the two moved towards the front, the Ashbringer making its name well known. Scourgebane moved towards his men, Arion in tow. "So, how's old Gloomeye doing? Normally you two are fighting together."

"He's commanding our eastern flank, to support the Horde. I hope they arrive soon, his troop was the smallest of us, and though they are fierce, nobody can stand forever."

Crok grunted, "I knew him in life as well. He'll hold. He always has."

Arion nodded, "Well, lets get to saving these paladins then. Seems they always need it."

The orc laughed, "Aye, seems like they do. I'll take my men west, you take east?"

"Works for me. Suffer well, brother."

"Suffer well."

Arion gathered a group of his knights around, then quickly explained their objectives. As one, they moved out into the sea of demons, carving their way through. The hours dragged on. Every time they came upon a pocket of survivors, he set his blood knights to doing what they could to get them on their feet, while he and the others protected them. A few paladins were saved. Most had been butchered before they arrived. As each demon fell to Shadowmourne, strength flowed into him. He lost two knights along the way. One was able to be taken back to Acherus to be saved, though the other found her second death. He wished her well in the afterlife, then went back to his bloody work. As the battle dragged on, they found less and less survivors. After a half hour of no friendly faces, Arion was forced to give up the rescue. As one, he and his men fought their way back to command. As they arrived, he saw that Crok had been far more successful than he, judging by the amount of crusaders he found there. He found his way to Darion and Tirion, and reported. "I'm sorry Highlord, I saved as many of your men as I could, but for most we were too late."

Tirion grimaced, as if in physical pain. "I expected as much. Thank you for the souls you were able to find."

Darion nodded, then gave his own report. "The Alliance and Horde are finally arriving in their airships. Thassarian fights on, and our west is secure. Malokh was almost broken, but I sent Crok to reinforce him, and now our East is strong as well. With the two factions here, we can finally begin our push forward." 

Arion acknowledged that with a nod. "Finally. Shadowmourne is getting hungry." 

Darion grinned slightly, then pointed to the sky. "Ah, here they are now."

They all looked up and saw the two airships coming in. Their waterbound fleets were also here, but the command of both factions were on those two ships. The paladins began to cheer, and though they didn't show much outward emotions, the death knights were also relieved to see the reinforcements. The relief quickly turned to horror. A barrage of infernals rained from the sky, ravaging the two ships. Within seconds, the Horde ship had righted itself, and continued to its landing zone. The Alliance ship, however, continued to lose altitude, far faster than was safe. They watched as it crashed into the sea, the hopes of the defenders crashing with it. Darion turned, and instantly waved to his group of Knights. "I go to reinforce Thassarian! The Alliance still has forces there, but they will need more help than ever now! Arion, I leave you in command of our knights here. Help the Crusade break them." At that, he and his men charged off, already blowing the horns to signal the frostwyrms to pick them up. As they took off to assist the beleaguered Alliance, Tirion turned to him.

"We need to push forward now, buy them time to regroup. We must move fast, hold their reinforcements here, so they aren't able to move and overwhelm our west. My men will take the middle, if you will protect our flanks. We all welcome your assistance, but I don't want any of your men getting injured from our spellwork, as I know you are particularly susceptible." Arion nodded, then moved to inform his people of the new battle plan. The Ebon Blade took up positions upon the flanks of the square of paladins, and as one, they pushed towards the demons. More bloody hours ensued, as Arion made his way to each flank to reinforce his people where they were bending. Demons fell before him, each soul strengthening Shadowmourne, and through it, himself. He found an Eredar warlock, and after a quick battle of wills, ripped her from the back of her dreadsteed. He wrapped his enchanted chain around the beasts neck, then he had a mount. Upon the horned beast, he was a force of nature. Fel guard broke before him. Fel hounds were trampled beneath the demons hooves. Occasionally, he sent a bolt of shadowy energy into the sky, his death coil connecting with a doom guard or felbat, who plummeted from the sky, tearing holes in the demons line. He saw a group of paladins, cut off from the wall of their companions. Instantly he rode to their aid, but a priest among them sent a bolt of light into the chest of his mount, mistaking him for a member of the Legion. The beast dissolved below him. As he hit the ground, he rolled and came up to his feet just in time to summon his anti-magic shield to block another bolt of light. The effort shook him. This priest was powerful. Before the misunderstanding became deadly, he indicated his tabard. Quickly, the pretty, brown-haired priestess lowered her hands, the glow of deadly Light fading from them. Without a word, they began to fight together, driving back the Legion that had been harrying them. He and the priest were strangely in sync, moving together as if they were one. When the fel guard surrounding them were dead, he finally got a good look at her through the slits of his helmet.

She was beautiful, which was odd for him to realize, as he hadn't thought that of anyone since his raising. Dark, chocolate brown curls framed a heart shaped face. Full lips were speaking blessings over her men, healing them and bringing them back from the brink. As she turned to thank him, she looked into his eyes, and immediately recoiled, as if she recognized them. "Arion?" she said, in a voice that was near to breaking. Tears streamed down her face. A rush of memories hit him at the sound of that voice speaking his name. Memories he hadn't known that he had. They were all jumbled in his head, but one was clear. This woman, a little younger, standing in a glade. She was clad in a beautiful white dress, flowers in her hair. Laughing, she held a baby in her arms, and she turned to look at him. A smile, radiant and glorious, blessed him. She said his name, and he smiled in return as his heart lurched.

An infernal crashed into the ground next to him, jarring him from his reverie. He immediately turned to combat it, still unsure of who this woman was, but sure that he would protect her with his life if needed. The construct of stone and fel roared in his face, and he roared right back. He brought Shadowmourne down upon it, cutting off its "hand". The other one hit him in the side, trying to drive him to the ground, though he stood tall. He shot his chain up, around its head, and pulled it own directly into his blade. The living pile of rocks collapsed. He looked around, his thoughts back on the priestess, but the tides of war seemed to have driven them apart. He was surrounded once more by his own men, and grimly, he led them back into the thick of battle.

Time passed in a measure he did not know, until they found themselves in a small gully. The fighting seemed to have stopped, as he saw no demons around. He made his way to Tirion. The old paladin was standing at the front of the line, and though he still stood straight, he finally was beginning to look his age. The Ashbringer was over his shoulder, blade still glowing in the rapidly darkening night. Arion took a place at his side. "So, have we driven them off?"

The paladin sighed, "It appears so, for now. We have had word. The Horde is successful, and are on their way here. The Alliance as well. Most of their command survived the crash, and have linked up with Darion. This is the central location, and we are to wait here to join forces. Once we are all gathered, we will push forward to the portal."

Arion nodded. He thought for a second to ask Tirion about the priestess he had seen that had awakened the memories now jumbled in his head, then thought better of it. There was time enough for that after the battle. He began to move to his Knights, counting their numbers. He was pleased to see that more than eighty percent of his command had made it through the battle so far. They truly were the elite. He felt a weird prickling on his neck, as if a being of great power was somewhere near. He looked around, but saw nothing. However, he got his men into place, as he sensed something was about to happen. As they formed up, he attempted to make his way to Tirion to let him know. The sky flashed bright green, temporarily blinding everyone around. A massive force hit the ground, throwing everyone back, and dazing most of the living.

As Arion struggled to his feet, he looked around at the carnage. A massive hole was now in the ground where Tirion had been standing. In it, a grotesque demon. It looked like an eredar, but far larger than any he had seen before. It's skin was bright red, with fel green erupting from his veins. On a rise behind him, a small, stunted being stood. It looked like an orc. Its hands were raised, holding up a ball of fel energy in front of the massive demon. Arion looked at the ball of energy, and if he had breath, it would have caught in his throat. Tirion Fordring, the Ashbringer himself, was inside

Quickly, Arion rallied his men, who had recovered much faster than the paladins. Demons swarmed over the rise. The Ebon Blade smashed into them, trying to buy the Crusade time to recover, and to get to the orc now torturing Tirion, whos screams could be heard loud over the din of battle. 

The fighting from before was as childs play to what was happening now. Acts of brutality nobody would ever believe were happening every moment. A fel guard picked up a tauren to his right, and ripped him to pieces right in front of Arion. Shadowmourne stole the demons soul a moment later, but it was too late. Not even able to dwell on the moment, a mo'arg crashed into him, driving him back. They exchanged a flurry of blows, Shadowmourne cleaving a piece of its armor off with every strike. The beast stood far longer than his brethren, til he was nothing but a pile of quivering meat bleeding out into the dirt. The Blade was holding, but there were just too many demons, they were being pushed farther and farther back from Tirion, who could now barely be seen, but still heard. Just as his men were about to break, salvation arrived.

From the west, Darion, Thassarian and Siouxsie rode down, their men streaming behind them, and tore into the demons. From the east, Malokh and Crok brought their legions to bear, leaping straight from the rise above to land on the demons heads. With the entire strength of the Ebon Blade now gathered. the demons stood no chance. Now together, the death knights pushed forward. They made it nearly back to where Tirion was held, but the Legion dug in, giving no more ground, though they weren't able to take any back either. The Alliance and Horde had now arrived. Varian Wrynn was exchanging words with the warlock holding Tirion, while Vol'jin, Sylvanas and her rangers had arrows trained upon him. It looked as if the paladin was about to be freed. With a shouted word from the orc, chaos ensued.

The giant demon in the pit roared, and shot a beam of fel energy directly into the orb holding Tirion. It was so bright it blinded the archers, who weren't able to get a shot at the now departing warlock. When Arion could see again. Tirion was gone. Everyone then leapt into action. The Alliance and Horde started assaulting the giant, while the Ebon Blade and Argent Crusade held off the demons around them. The battle was long, but eventually the giant was driven away, disappearing into the lava beneath him. As the last of the demons were dispatched, the heads of all the factions moved together to converse. Varian represented the Alliance, and Baine Bloodhoof the Horde, as Vol'jin had wished to see to his men, and trusted the young bull with the planning. Darion was there for the Blade, and Maxwell Tyrosus for the Crusade. The paladin looked stricken, but stood strong. Arion and Malokh made sure the area was secure for their quick conference. Arion turned to his companion, "I heard that you were having trouble over there. Getting old?' 

Malokh laughed, his death's head helmet echoing the sound. "Bah, Darion overreacts. We were fine, if a little shorthanded. By the time Crok got there all the demons were dead anyways."

Arion smiled, then frowned sadly, "Then you had better luck than us. It's my fault Tirion was lost. I sensed the demon the moment before he arrived, but wasn't able to get a warning in time."

Malokh clapped him on the shoulder, "The paladin was strong, I'm sure he sensed it too, and there was just simply no time. It is no fault of your own."

Arion punched him in the shoulder affectionately, and was about to thank him, when a roaring filled his ears. He looked up, and saw another rain of infernals coming down, and a wave of fel guard charging in from behind them! Unsure of how they circled around, he quickly shouted for his men to form up and protect their leaders. The demon army crashed into them, and the bloody conflict ensued once more. After maneuvering himself away from the front line, he turned to make sure the conference was still safe. To his surprise, the Horde and Alliance were moving forward, towards the portal. Darion was fighting his way to him, while Tyrosus was doing the same for his men. Attempting to get to his commander, Arion shot his chain into the sky to wrap around a felbat. The beast took him into the sky, and when he judged his angle was correct, he shot a death coil up into the beast, and it dropped. He landed in a roll about ten feet from the Highlord. They fought their way together, then had a circle of Knights surround them so they could speak. Darion shouted to be heard over the battle.

"The Alliance and Horde are still pushing towards the portal! The plan still stands, but we won't be able to support them! This army maneuvered around us somehow, so we will hold them here while Varian and Vol'jin take down the portal! We make our stand here. We must hold!"

Arion nodded in return, then blew the horn upon his belt. The frostwyrms of Acherus descended, and began to support the battle more directly. They tore flying beasts from the sky and threw them into the demons ranks. They blew their frosty breath over the lines, and any demons not slain by the blast were easy fodder for the death knights. The battle was turning in their favor, and it looked as if even the demons might break. Arion had made his way back to the front, and helped to shore up the line. A line of fel guard appeared in front of him, and he blasted them all with shadowy energy. As their strength flowed into him, he shouted commands. One of the demons said something in their unintelligible language, and a group of doom guard converged on a frost wyrm. it roared and fought back, slaying two, but eventually was overwhelmed. As one of its wings was torn from its skeleton, it began to fall. The doom guard let go, and the undead dragon began to crash into the earth. Too late, Arion saw the path it was taking and where it would land, and realized it was exactly where he was standing. He attempted to get out of the way, but gravity and inertia won the day. He felt the mass of bones plow into him, he felt himself slam into the ground, and then he knew no more.


	3. Warbringer's Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malokh finds a new blade.

Malokh watched with dread as Arion was crushed beneath the downed frostwyrm. He attempted to fight his way to his fallen companion, but fel guard were making a habit of getting in his way. He brought his axe to bear against demon after demon, cutting his way slowly to the (hopefully not dead again) human. As doomguard swarmed over the corpse, he screamed in anguish as he realized he would be too late. It didn't matter, as Malokh was not the only one fighting his way to the front. Highlord Mograine himself burst onto the scene, slicing his way through the scavengers with deadly ease. He used shadowy energy to bring Arions body to him through the mass of bones and demon flesh, then stood over him against the encroaching horde. As fel guard and infernals swarmed over the lone Highlord, Mograine raised his blade high, and went to work.

Malokh watched as the deadly runeblade ripped through demon after demon. Nothing made it past Mograines guard. Nothing that is, until a fel lord bullied his way to the frontlines and roared a challenge. The Highlord did no such posturing, and immediately encased the monsters legs in ice. The beast broke through, and swung a deadly looking axe, glowing and dripping with fel enchantments, down at the death knight commander. Mograine dodged one strike, two strikes, three. While the demon wrenched it's blade from the earth after over-extending itself, Darion sunk his blade deep into its ribs. Roaring in pain, the fel lord swiped a spiked gauntlet towards his opponent. Darion raised his runeblade, blocking a blow he had blocked countless times before. The blade shattered. Darion himself was sent rolling, his body coming to rest against Arions prone form. Malokh fought even more frantically, Crok now at his side, desperately trying to reach the two humans. He watched in horror as the fel lord blocked his view of the two fallen knights, then raised its axe high, and descended it in a deadly arc. A loud keening sound rang out as the axe hit the ground.

A blast of shadowy energy threw the fel lord back. As the monster recovered from the blow, Malokh watched as the Highlord got back to his feet once more. Shadowmourne was in his hand. The fel lord, now recovered, roared another challenge, almost assuredly sensing the power emanating from the runeaxe. Darion did not fall for the bait, and once more, he instantly was on the offensive. His power from before seemed like a child compared to the forces at his command now. A death coil shot forward from his hand, much larger than any seen before. As it crashed into the demon, draining his life force enough to drop him to one knee, Darion was already in his face, driving the axe through the space where his neck and shoulder connected. The massive fel lord was split from collarbone to waist. As the body fell, a stunned silence overtook the battlefield. Even the mindless infernals stopped in their tracks as they watched the body of their commander fall. As Mograine pulled the blade out from his trophy kill, he once again gave no epic speech. As the Legion scrambled to reorganize its line, Darion raised Shadowmourne high. As one, the Ebon Blade screamed a warcry, and smashed anew into the demons lines.

As the host marched forward, Malokh made his way to Arions body. The Highlord had moved on, to lead his men from the front, but had left a small guard of two knights behind. They saluted and stepped aside as the fallen blademaster moved towards his friend. Arion was unconscious, but Malokh sensed the necromantic energies within him, letting him know he was still "alive". He barked orders to the two knights on guard. "You two, get Commander Carral back to the Hold, as quickly as you can! If anything befalls him, you will meet your next death on the edge of my axe, regulations be damned." The two knights, looking a little nervous, gathered up Arions body. The smaller of the two, a gnome, blew a whistle made of bone on his belt. The skeletal Gryphons descended. The gnome and his draenei companion loaded Arion over the side of one, and the gnome clambered up behind him, to hold him tight to the saddle. The draenei saluted to Malokh as he mounted the second gryphon, to guard the other two as they flew back to Acherus. Malokh watched as the two gryphons turned to specks on their way to the Ebon Hold. When he was satisfied that they had made it into Thalanors protective circle, he turned, and made his way back to the lines.

The blademaster barked orders as he caught up to the host, and a space opened up for him on the front line. He found himself next to Lord Thorval. The human nodded to Malokh, and Malokh returned the gesture. As he set to work, cleaving limbs from fel guard, Thorval ripping and manipulating the life within their veins, he looked about for the other commanders of the Blade. Lady Alistra was behind a line of abominations, directing their movements, and when needed, sending a quick blast of shadowy energy from her blade, either into a demon to kill, or a member of the undead to empower. Thassarian was far off, leading the right flank. He was a whirlwind of ice, neither blade ever stopping long enough to be seen. Demons fell in his wake, cut to pieces and frozen before they ever had a chance to recognize the threat. As Malokh caught eye of Amal'thazad, he looked around for Salanar. Seeing his dark riders nowhere, he turned his gaze back to the lich. Ice storms raged all along the demon lines, huge chunks of ice and deadly icicles crunching and impaling demons all around. A doomguard tried to fly in between falling projectiles to strike down the lich. His wings froze, and before he had a chance to even fall, he was speared by three shards of ice, and plummeted down, taking a dozen fel guard with him as he crashed into the ground. Crok Scourgebane was on the left flank, turning back an assault of eredar. He was not showing the flashy magical powers of the others, but his axe sang as he executed masterful strikes, almost single-handedly turning the group of warlocks back. Siouxsie was nowhere to be seen, but knowing her, Malokh was certain she was sowing discord amongst the enemy somewhere. The Highlord himself was easily found. He was in the lead of a spearhead deep into enemy lines, Shadowmourne reaping a deadly harvest. As the orc watched, he could not help but think to himself that Darion showed much more power in only his limited time with the weapon than Arion had in the years he wielded it. Even the leaders of the Argent Crusade were visible. Bright flashes of light showed were Tyrosus was striking down demon after demon, in revenge for the Ashbringer.

Everywhere, the demon lines were breaking. Malokh was grinning as demon blood dripped from his axe. In what was perhaps a last ditch effort to break the Ebon Blade, a massive pit lord crushed his way to the front line. As he gazed across the death knights and paladins with contempt, he laughed. "Ha! You will all either fall before the Legion, or be broken to serve us, as is in your nature! For you now face me, the destructor of worlds beyond imagining! You face-" The sentence was cut off, as Darion leaped from a rise and smashed a plated fist into the beasts maw. As the Highlord landed in a roll and bounced to his feet, the leaders of the Blade and the Crusade both converged, sensing that this was the pivotal moment in the battle.

Darion stood in the front, Shadowmourne held across his chest. Thassarian was at his right hand, blades resting on his shoulders, a cold wind already starting to reform around him. Thorval was on his left, already forming a chain of demons blood to bind the creature with. Alistra was behind Thorval, a massive abomination by her side, ready to die and to kill at her word. Crok had made his way from the far flank, and he and Malokh stood to the right, falling into concert as they had in both life and death. Maxwell Tyrosus had even made his way over, speaking blessings over his blade, his one remaining eye staring murderously at the pit lord. Amal'thazad towered behind them all, an ice storm forming over their heads as the lich swirled his hands about. The pit lord roared, and as he gathered fel energies to his glaive, the champions all made their move to strike.

Darion moved first, bringing Shadowmourne crashing into the demons chest plate. Massive spikes of ice fell from the sky, directed by Amal'thazad. The pit lord laughed, ignoring Darions strike, and sent a blast of fel energy at the lich. He also ignited a cloak of fel flame about him, melting the icy shards before they had a chance to pierce him. Amal'thazad took the blast full in his chest, and was thrown back into a rocky outcropping. He shifted around, but collapsed as he struggled to rise. As the lich lay prone, fiery blood erupted from the pit lords skin. Lord Thorval was ripping the blood from its veins, and quickly formed two chains, one leading from each arm. He grabbed hold of one, and Crok the other. As they strained to hold the beast still, Alistras abomination wrapped its hook around the demons tusks, pulling down hard on its head and holding it still. The pit lord roared, and Malokh and Thassarian both struck. Malokh drove an axe into its wrist, attempting to turn it into a stump. His axe caught deep in flesh, but not enough to hit bone. Thassarian encased the beasts legs in ice, hoping to fully immobilize it. The demon commander roared once more, and backhanded Malokh with just a flick of its wrist, sending him crashing into Crok. The chain on his left arm dissipated into nothing as the orc lost his hold. Thorval redoubled his efforts on the right arm, but it was all for naught. The beast pulled, hard, and ripped Thorval off his feet. As the master of blood flew through the air, the glaive rose up, and its haft clotheslined the man, sending him spinning and crashing into the dirt. The beast broke a leg out of its icy casing, and went to stomp on the prone form of Lord Thorval. Right as the foot descended, Tyrosus was there, sending a hammer formed of blessed light into the knee of the dread commander. The beast roared, and its foot landed next to Thorval, instead of crushing him as it intended. As Tyrosus moved to stand beside Thassarian to attract the beasts attention, Darion and Alistra dragged the dead weight of Thorval away from the kill zone. The pit lord wrenched its head upwards, finally dragging Alistras abomination off its feet. As the demon used his glaive to break the chains around his tusks, Thassarian and Tyrosus struck. A holy greatsword cleaved into the beasts already weakened wrist, as Thassarians twin blades carved up its underbelly. The abomination charged forwards, bringing its weight to bear against the pit lord, pushing him back as he dug his tail into the dirt. The abominations pressure had the unseen side effect of helping to break the ice still encasing the pit lord other legs. Immediately upon having its feet back under him, the pit lord *picked up* the massive abomination, and ignited him with fel flame. He threw the now burning mass of flesh at his enemies. Thassarian dashed to the side, but was caught by the hook as the abomination flew by, and was dragged with it. Tyrosus formed a bubble of light around himself, and through it protected his body from being hit with the burning undead, his shield richocheted him away and into a cliffside. Alistra had just returned to the fight, and caught the abomination full blast, throwing her back to land underneath its dead, burning form. Darion had no time to drag her out from underneath, as the pit lord was now pressing down upon them, and everyone else was incapacitated.

Malokh watched, unable to rise, as the Highlord stood alone against the nameless pit lord. The demon laughed, and raised his glaive with his right arm. Darion swung at the now twice-weakened left wrist, and with the strike of Shadowmourne, the hand went spinning off into the night, fiery fel blood trailing behind it. The laugh immediately cut off, and the beast roared in pain. Mograine seized his opportunity to use the demons leg to vault up, and sheared a massive tusk off of the pit lords maw. As Darion landed in his feet, he leapt to the side, narrowly avoiding a stomp from one of the demons many legs. A second leg came though, and caught the Highlord in the chest, throwing him backwards. Malokh struggled to his feet, and retrieved his axe, Crok still insensate at his side. Darion recovered, and used the blade of Shadowmourne to cleave off the final remaining bit of the pit lords chest armor plate. However, the saronite blade got stuck in whatever demon infused metal the armor was made of, and Darion was defenseless as the beast readied a blast of fel energy from his glaive. Malokh reacted, running as fast as he could to close the distance. He reached the Highlord just in time, shoving him from the blast. The orc himself was not so lucky. Felfire coursed through his veins, as the blast caught him in the face as he pulled away. Skin sizzled and popped. If he still had eyes, they would have ran as jelly down his cheeks. He felt his flesh slough off his skull, bits and pieces falling and sticking to his armor. His vision was nothing but green. He felt an icy cold blast of wind hit his face, but it brought no relief. However, it did bring back vision. As he stared, vision still colored bright green, he could make out both Thassarian and Darion sparring with the pit lord. It was using its bare hand, as one of them must have been able to take advantage of the demons missing hand to disarm him. Malokh looked down to his axe. The metal was twisted and bent, unusable. His eyes darted over to the fallen glaive. The weapon was impossibly large, but what other choice was there? As he picked up the glaive, he invoked his unholy powers, driving himself into a frenzy and granting him increased strength. As he steadied the massive, unwieldy weapon in his hands, Darion cut an opening. As Shadowmourne knocked the beasts hand away, Thassarians twin runeblades pinned it to the ground. Malokh knew his next move. As the two humans struggled to hold the pit lord in place with shadowy and icy chains, the orc charged the demon. The pit lord roared as he saw the glaive approaching his bare chest, but could do nothing to stop it. The massive weapon went in cleanly, right into his heart, and both the weight, and the orcs unholy strength, drove it deep, until it burst out the spiked back of the demon lord. As the demon burst into flames, trying to take his killers with him into death, Highlord Mograine simultaneously cast a massive anti-magic zone, large enough to encompass them, and a mass death grip, to pull all their incapacitated allies close. He held the shadowy shield up until the beasts death knell was over, then wearily let it drop.

As they looked around, the army of demons was either retreating into portals, or being massacred by the host of the Ebon Blade and the Argent Crusade. Malokh looked around, the fel fire still burning on his face, and attempted to shut out the pain as he surveyed his companions. Highlord Mograine was unaffected, still in just as good condition as when the battle had started. Alistra was alright, though a little singed. She had managed to cast an anti-magic shell over herself in the second the abomination hit her. Thorval was groggily waking up, his face a smashed mess from the strike of the glaive, though being a master of blood, he would have it fixed up in a moments time. Thassarian had a dent across his chest plate where the hook had caught him, but otherwise was none the worse for wear. Amal'thazad was rearranging his bones into the proper areas, as he had been jostled about when he hit the rockface. Crok was bruised and bloody, but fully in command of his senses, and would have joined the latter half of the battle had he not been fending off a small assault of felguard coming to reinforce their commander. Tyrosus might have been injured, but the glow of the Light was slowly fading from him, indicating he had used its power to heal his wounds. As he looked at each face in turn, they all began to wear expressions of horror. Even Amal'thazad made a pained sound. Darion placed a hand on his shoulder, "Warbringer, your face... are you alright?" Malokh reached up with a gauntleted hand to brush his cheek. Nothing was there. He felt a little farther, and finally found bone. He rubbed both hands over his face to feel the truth. Outside of a few remaining tendons, and the bits of flesh hanging off of them, the front of his skull was now entirely exposed. Luckily, around the front of his ears the flame had melted his skin to the bone, so he had lost no more. In his typical stoic fashion, he grunted. "Lost a bit of flesh, so what? Legion still remain on this shore, and I will see them from this world!" As the group gathered themselves, and prepared to go once more into battle, a page of the Argent Crusade ran up to Maxwell Tyrosus. He stumbled and nearly vomited at the sight of Malokhs face, but composed himself and delivered his message. "The Alliance and Horde are retreating! We do now know what happened up there, but it seems both the High King and the Warchief have fallen. The greatest champions of the Legion are on their way here now. We have only minutes to spare!" Darion swore, and Thassarian plunged both his blades into the fallen corpse of a demon. Nodding, Tyrosus sent the page off, then turned to the Highlord. "Darion, we must retreat. Whatever they have up there, it broke both the Alliance and Horde. We stand no chance against it!"

Mograine nodded in reply. "Of course. I will have my men open their death gates. I do not think you will have time to perform a conventional retreat. We can take you to Acherus, and then once there have our portal mages open the way to Light's Hope, or Hearthglen."

Tyrosus gritted his teeth, but nodded. "I will go gather my men." At that, the paladin rushed off, shouting orders to the gathered paladins of the Crusade. The death knights all looked at each other, and then opened death gates, ferrying the other members of the Blade and Argent crusade through. As the final few hurried their way to the Ebon Hold, a large group of demons topped the rise. Hurriedly, the leaders of the Blade and Crusade dove through the open gates. Malokh alone remained, and glanced at his ruined axe, and then the fallen pit lords glaive. Hurrying, he grabbed the glaive, then dragged it through his gate, retreating just as the first of the demons spells pounded into the ground where he stood. As he emerged in Acherus, the massive weapon laying on the ground beside him. He began to grin.


End file.
